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BOUGHT  FROM 
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THROUGH 

the 


GATE 


Compiled  aad  Written 

by 
F.  M.  LEHMAN 


HIS  SUN  SET  AT  EIGHT 


Lehman  Brothers  Publishers 

Post  Office  Lock  Box  335 

Pasadena,  California 


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GOLDEN  GATE 


Compiled  and  Written 

by 
F.  M.  LEHMAN 


HIS  SUN  SET  AT  EIGHT 


All  the  proceeds  from  the  sale  of  this 

book  will  be  used  exclusively 

for  the  Missionary  Cause 


Lehman    Brothers    Publishers 

Post  Office  Lock  Box  335 

Pasadena,  California 


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Copyright  1920  by  S.   M.   Lehman 


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INTRODUCTION 

It  gives  me  pleasure  to  introduce  the  subject  of  this 
sketch.  In  the  providence  of  God  I  was  twice  entertained 
in  the  home  of  his  parents,  as  I  held  revival  services  in 
Sioux  City,  Iowa.  Although  at  that  time  he  did  not  claim 
to  be  a  Christian,  yet  he  was  so  very  dutiful  and  obedient 
to  his  parents — marks  which  are  so  much  wanting  in  the 
lives  of  so  many  boys  these  days. 

One  thing  that  has  lingered  with  me  since  my  first 
acquaintance  with  Brenton  is  this:  although  he  was  a  real 
boy,  and  enjoyed  a  romp  and  fun  like  other  boys,  yet  he 
would  never  intrude  himself  on  my  time.  The  very  mo- 
ment of  any  indication  that  I  was  through  having  fun  with 
him,  that  moment  he  would  cease,  and  never  hint  that  he 
wanted  more,  till  he  could  see  me  advance  in  that  direction. 
This  was  so  uncommon  with  the  general  run  of  children 
that  it  made  a  lasting  impression  upon  my  mind. 

I  am  now  holding  revival  meetings  (May  1920)  for  the 
third  time  with  his  father.  Since  I  saw  Brenton  last  he  has 
been  converted  and  sanctified,  and  has  slipped  away  to  be 
with  Jesus  forever.  The  home  does  not  seem  the  same 
without  him.  While  the  home  is  poorer,  heaven  is  richer. 

I  went  out  to  the  silent  grave,  in  company  with  his 
father.  What  a  beautiful  place  nature  has  provided  on 
that  lovely  hillside  overlooking  the  Golden  Gate!  It  is 
one  of  the  beauty  spots  of  earth.  Around  the  grave  on  the 
greensward  we  knelt  and  asked  the  Lord  to  help  us  to  hold 
out  faithful  to  the  end. 

Some  glad  day,  when  Jesus  appears  in  the  clouds,  Bren- 
ton's  body  will  arise  from  the  dust  and  together  with  loved 
ones  all  shall  be  for  ever  with  their  Lord.  Let  us  all  so  live 
that  we  may  be  ready  to  meet  him  on  that  bright  morning. 

W.  E.  SHEPARD. 


CONTENTS 

Page 
INTRODUCTION  9 

CHAPTER  I 
A  BIT  OF  SUNSHINE  11 

CHAPTER  II 
THROUGH  THE  GATE   -  16 

CHAPTER  III 
THE  EMPTY  CHAIR  24 

CHAPTER  IV 
GONE— IN  His  ''LITTLE  SHIP"     -        -        -        -     29 

CHAPTER  V 
OUR  SUNSET  VIEW  34 

CHAPTER  VI 
"WHEN  THE  BELL  RINGS"  41 

CHAPTER  VII 
THAT  WONDERFUL  MORNING  44 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 
THE  GOLDEN  GATE  AT  SUNSET  6 

BRENTON  SAMUEL  LEHMAN 

COMPANIONS  Two  36 

IN  THE  HARBOR        -  52 


«  I  -,-,«.  --_<  « 

;     .          .  »  .  -     -       . 

1         "  '         ' 

CHAPTER  I 

A  BIT  OF  SUNSHINE 

IT  WAS  A  gloomy  day  in  January.  In  a  small  room, 
meagerly  furnished,  but  immaculately  clean,  sat  the  physic- 
ian with  his  hastily  summoned  village  attendants.  The 
husband,  nervous  yet  prayerful,  paced  the  floor.  He  went 
from  one  window  to  the  other,  looked  out,  but  saw  noth- 
ing— except  the  loved  one  now  approaching  the  valley  of 
death.  For  her  he  prayed  as  he  walked  and  waited. 

The  telephone  rang  in  quick  questionings,  but  always  the 
answer  was,  "No,  not  yet!"  The  women  watchers  had 
everything  prepared,  the  tea-kettle  singing,  the  swaddling 
laid  in  handy  order,  soaps  and  salves  within  easy  reach.  All 
was  quiet,  all  was  still — except  the  ticking  of  the  mantel 
clock.  In  the  distance  could  be  heard  the  whistle  and  roar 
of  a  passenger  train,  and — the  muffled  moan  of  agony  in 
the  blind-drawn  chamber. 

Suddenly  a  cry — a  baby's  cry — rang  through  the  house, 
and  the  crisis  had  passed.  Wan  and  weak  and  utterly  ex- 
hausted the  little  mother  lay  back  on  her  pillows — the  pic- 
ture of  helplessness  and  verging  death.  Her  companion,  his 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

face  as  white  as  her  own,  kissed  the  pale  cheek  and  fondly 
brushed  the  luxuriant  hair  back  from  the  pallid  brow, 
thankful  that  God  had  kept  her  from  slipping  into  the 
Great  Beyond. 

**  'We  leave' the  bed-chamber  now  and  turn  our  attention 
to  the  new  arrival.  See;  -the  tiny  bit  of  humanity  lies  lustily 
,  cry ijng  Awhile  oef.t, fingers  fuss  and  fix  about  it  swaddling  of 
the  softest  down.  Love  and  forethought  had  left  nothing 
wanting.  Soon  the  little  one  lay  cuddled  in  pillows  with 
profusion  of  frills  and  love-fuss  things  ever  utterly  be- 
wildering to  mere  man. 

Outside,  the  skies  were  leaden,  but  into  the  parsonage 
had  crept  a  bit  of  sunshine  so  glorious,  so  lovely,  so  en- 
chanting that  we  feel  to  withdraw,  lest  we  intrude.  Like 
two  birds  nesting  in  a  bough  so  these  two  must  be  left 
alone  to  enjoy  what  has  come  into  their  life.  Sacred,  holy 
relationship,  this,  where  one  is  bound  to  the  other  and  the 
two  with  the  baby  to  make  a  family. 

In  the  midst  of  this  suspense  and  sudden  relief  we  have 
the  ludicrous.  The  husband  is  asked  (O,  artful  women!) 
to  "hold  the  baby  a  bit."  See,  nowT,  the  utter  helplessness 
of  poor  man.  He  comes  as  a  sheep  led  to  the  slaughter. 
There  he  sits,  arms  awkwardly  extended,  face  crimsoning 
like  a  schoolgirl's,  "holding"  the  tiny  bit  of  heaven  as 
though  it  might  melt  and  run  through  his  arms  or  explode, 
he  does  not  know  which.  What  a  delectable  bit  of  talk 
these  women  must  have  had  when  out  of  ear-shot  and  what 
shouts  of  laughter  fell  when  trying  to  describe  the  "pas- 
tor's" pose  "holding  that  baby."  For  their  blessed  love- 
Twelve 


A    BIT    OF    SUNSHINE 

service  in  the  hour  of  need  these  ministering  midwives  may 
be  pardoned  for  the  pleasantry. 

Hoping  against  hope  that  the  women  would  not  observe 
his  uncomfortable  situation,  the  fond  father  looked  upon 
the  little  red  face  in  his  arms,  the  tiny,  pudgy  fingers — and 
then  a  great,  unnameable  love  surged  through  his  heart. 
Now  let  the  whole  world  laugh !  He  has  conquered ;  it  is 
his  baby,  so  why  feel  out  of  place  ? 

We  smile  at  the  tableau  in  the  parsonage  kitchen  and  re- 
member when  our  own  arms  held  a  precious  bundle ;  when 
the  women  laughed  in  their  sleeve  at  our  predicament ;  and, 
when  we  found  ourselves  and  suddenly  felt  that  we  could 
face  anything  in  order  that  "baby"  might  have  love  and 
protection.  After  this,  home  had  to  us  a  sweeter  and  holier 
meaning. 

Home!  Keep  the  destructionist,  the  despoiler,  the  Bol- 
shevist from  crossing  the  sacred  threshold  of  home.  God- 
instituted,  blest  by  heaven's  smiles,  graced  by  woman's 
loveliness  and  strengthened  by  man's  unswerving  fidelity, 
who  shall  mar  this  masterpiece  painted  by  Hand  Divine? 
Who  shall  break  in  upon  the  circle  around  the  singing  tea- 
kettle? Who  would  bring  discord  into  the  song  crooned 
over  a  baby?  Who  would  dissolve  the  wedding  bands  to 
let  lust  run  riot?  Who  would  let  the  serpent  of  sensuality 
creep  in  to  desecrate  this  Eden  ?  God !  may  wedlock  never 
be  ravished!  May  home  never  be  despoiled.  Home  means 
love,  life,  and  happiness.  Home  means  husband,  wife, 
children,  family  altar — this  is  home.  May  it  ever  indeed 
be  "Home,  Sweet  Home!" 


Thirteen 


A  BIT  OF  SUNSHINE 

But  we  must  come  back  to  the  baby  in  the  parsonage. 
We  must  know  more  about  it.  Its  name  is — O,  ah ! — why, 
yes,  of  course — we  must  see  what  its  name  is  to  be.  Let  us 
see.  Its  mother's  name  is  Maud,  so  of  course,  she  being  a 
woman,  it  should  have  a  pretty  name.  Let  us  try  hard 
and  perhaps — O,  there  goes  that  telephone  again!  'Yes, 
yes,  it's  a  boy!  Yes,  a  boy!" 

We  were  interrupted  by  the  telephone,  but  now  we  will 
get  down  to  business.  The  father's  name  is  Samuel.  That 
is  a  very  pretty  name — a  Bi-ble  name,  too.  But  "father" 
objects — (did  you  ever  see  a  man  who  did  not  think  that 
they  should  have  given  him  a  prettier  name?). 

As  the  lists  of  names  are  quoted  for  choice  one  seems  to 
strike  general  favor.  "Brenton" — well,  yes — that  is  a 
pretty  name.  How  would  Brenton  Samuel  do?  A  sly 
glance  at  the  fond  father  discovers  that  a  compromise  may 
be  effected.  So,  Brenton  Samuel  Lehman  is  the  big  name 
the  little  baby  bears.  Thank  God,  that  task  is  at  last  ac- 
complished. The  baby  is  named. 

The  doctor  has  gone  to  his  other  patients,  the  good 
women  have  returned  to  their  own  firesides,  and  life  in 
the  parsonage  assumes  its  every-day  regularity.  Sermons 
must  be  prepared  and  studied,  the  flock  must  be  visited 
and  shepherded  and  the  church  work  attended  to — in  spite 
of  the  new-comer.  Gradually  the  little  mother  grows 
stronger  and  little  by  little  takes  up  her  household  duties, 
duties  now  multiplied  since  the  coming  of  the  baby.  To  be 
sure,  he  must  have  the  very  best  of  care. 

The  father  often  leaves  his  books  to  look  down  at  the 

Fourteen 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

wee  little  bundle  in  the  crib.  A  tickle  under  the  chin  causes 
baby  grins,  coos,  and  later,  gurgles  of  delight.  Often  the 
two  lean  over  the  precious  form,  like  two  birds  hovering 
over  their  nest,  each  planning  what  his  future  shall  be. 
The  husband  "holds  the  baby"  now  with  less  school-girl 
timidity — even  with  a  fatherly  familiarity  and  confidence 
— and  the  parsonage  is  the  happiest  place  in  town. 

Like  other  babies,  this  one  grew  into  young  boyhood. 
The  time  came  when  he  cut  his  first  tooth — a  bit  of  village 
news  indeed.  To  telephone  this  to  anxious  friends  was 
worth  a  year's  toll.  Letters  were  dispatched  telling  of  the 
great  and  glad  event.  Rubber  rings  and  rubber  dolls— 
anything  to  coax  out  more  of  the  ivory  beauties — were  pur- 
chased, until  the  incident  of  a  new  tooth  lost  interest  in 
weightier  things. 

From  petticoats  and  pinafores  to  knickerbockers  was  an- 
other event  of  unusual  importance.  Like  all  other  boys 
when  drest  in  "knee-pants,"  the  world  was  his.  Of  course 
everybody  on  the  street  noticed  what  a  "big  boy"  he  had 
grown  to  be.  Although  in  our  day  no  such  "animals"  as 
knickerbockers  existed,  with  no  less  pride  did  we  strut  in 
our  new  copper-toed  boots  and  home-made  jeans.  These 
proud  epochs  come  in  an  American  boy's  life  as  surely  as 
the  mumps  and  the  measles. 


CHAPTER  II 

THROUGH  THE  GATE 

HAVING  IN  THE  opening  chapter  introduced  our  little 
friend  we  must  now  turn  from  a  scene  of  the  sweetest 
earthly  joy  to  one  of  the  saddest  heart  can  know.  This 
chapter,  entitled:  "Through  the  Gate,"  takes  the  precious 
eight-year-old  from  the  activities  of  life  into  the  Land  of 
the  Far  Away. 

From  sunshine  and  singing  we  come  so  soon  in  life  to 
crape  and  the  hollow  drum  of  clods  on  coffin  lid.  Death, 
grim,  gruesome,  merciless,  snatched  away  their  dearest  on 
Hope's  rosy  morning.  Only  eight  brief  years  and  he  must 
away  to  that  Other  Land,  v/hile  the  loved  ones  are  left  to 
weep  and  to  wait  a  while  in  the  Land  of  Shadow. 

His    Obituary. 

BRENTON  SAMUEL  LEHMAN  was  born  at  New  London, 
Indiana,  on  Saturday,  January  7,  1911.  He  died  at 
Berkeley,  California,  on  Wednesday  morning  at  1 :30 
o'clock,  November  26,  1919.  Age,  8  years,  10  months  and 


THROUGH    THE    GATE 

19  days.  He  was  buried  in  Sunset  View  Cemetery,  Berke- 
ley, California. 

When  less  than  one  year  old  his  -parents  moved  from 
New  London,  Indiana,  to  Botna,  Iowa,  where  his  father 
was  pastor  for  three  years.  His  parents  then  moved  to 
Sioux  City,  Iowa,  which  pastorate  they  held  for  nearly  five 
years.  On  may  last  (1919)  his  father  accepted  a  call  to  a 
pastorate  at  Berkeley,  California. 

The  reason  for  this  change  to  the  Southland  was  that 
the  family  health  had  been  much  impaired  from  the  influ- 
enza while  in  Sioux  City,  Iowa.  It  was  thought  that  much 
benefit  would  be  realized  by  coming  to  a  warmer  climate. 
The  deceased  had  very  noticeably  gained  in  health  until 
just  one  week  before  his  death.  His  illness  was  of  short 
duration ;  just  one  short  week.  The  cause  of  his  death  was 
acute  ulceration  of  the  bowels. 

Through  all  his  intense  suffering  he  never  complained. 
He  was  always  of  a  cheerful  disposition.  His  school 
teacher,  Miss  Delmar,  was  told  that  he  was  sick,  and  she 
made  the  remark  to  another  teacher  that  Brenton  was  ill. 
This  teacher  said : 

"Is  it  the  boy  who  always  smiles?" 

On  Sunday  morning,  three  days  before  his  death,  wife 
and  I  were  praying  with  him.  When  we  had  finished  he 
was  asked: 

"Brenton,  how  do  you  feel?" 

His  reply  was:  "Praise  God,  I  never  felt  better  in  my 
life!" 

In  the  afternoon  we  called  in  three  earnest  Christians  to 

Seventeen 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

pray  for  his  healing,  for  he  had  grown  steadily  worse.  At 
the  conclusion  of  the  season  of  prayer  he  put  his  arms 
around  my  neck,  and  whispered : 

"Daddy,  it's  blessed  to  know!" 

To  his  parents  these  are  comforting  words  in  this  dark 
hour.  On  Saturday  evening  just  before  retiring  he  picked 
up  in  his  arms  his  little  sister,  Beryl,  a  little  over  two  years 
old  caressed  her  and  loved  her  so  tenderly. 

A  few  days  before  taken  sick  he  made  the  remark  to  his 
parents  that  one  of  the  pupils  at  school  had  been  crying  on 
account  of  hard  lessons.  He  had  been  told  that  he  must 
never  make  fun  of  any  one  having  difficulty  in  this  direc- 
tion. The  next  day  he  told  his  mother  that  he  had  given 
the  troubled  little  one  some  of  his  marbles.  We  can  truth- 
fully say  that  he  was  kind,  affectionate,  unselfish  and  ever 
thoughtful  of  others. 

One  Sunday  evening  at  Berkeley,  California,  after  his 
father  had  preached,  and  was  giving  the  altar-call,  he  came 
forward  of  his  own  accord.  He  prayed  earnestly  that  God 
wrould  save  him.  After  some  time  in  prayer  he  arose  from 
his  knees  with  a  shining  face  and  testified  that  he  had  been 
saved. 

A  few  weeks  later  while  his  father  and  mother  were 
conducting  a  revival  meeting  at  Santa  Rosa,  California,  he 
came  forward  to  the  altar,  again  of  his  own  accord,  for  the 
experience  of  entire  sanctific3tion< — a  clean  heart.  He 
prayed  through  and  testified  that  the  work  had  been  done. 

Ever  since  that  time,  when  the  time  came  for  family 
worship,  he  would  always  say:  "Let  me  read  a  chapter," 

Eighteen 


THROUGH    THE    GATE 

He  always  took  his  turn  to  pray  at  family  prayers — ever 
since  he  was  old  enough  to  talk.  In  one  of  his  prayers  of 
late  at  family  worship  he  prayed  God  to  "bless  our  home." 
His  prayers  were  never  dry  nor  formal. 

He  was  intensely  studious — even  to  the  last.  When  so 
ill  that  he  was  unable  to  sit  up  he  tried  to  get  his  lessons. 
In  his  delirium  he  so  many  times  mentioned  the  name  of  his 
playmates — one  especially,  whose  name  is  Bruce.  Through 
all  his  delirium  he  never  uttered  an  oath. 

We  laid  him  away  in  Sunset  View  Cemetery  the  day 
following  the  great  storm.  His  restingplace  overlooks  the 
Golden  Gate,  where  all  the  ocean  liners  come  in.  At  four 
or  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  as  the  sun  falls  on  the  waters 
where  the  Bay  and  ocean  meet  it  is  a  most  beautiful  sight. 

We  see  now  why  he  wrote  as  he  did.  His  ''little  ship"- 
poem  strangely  corresponds  with  the  later  setting  of  life's 
sad  picture.  If  while  still  living  he  had  stood  where  his 
body  now  lies  in  the  grave  he  could  not  have  put  it  better : 

THE  LITTLE  SHIP 

There  is  a  little  ship 
That  sails  on  yonder  sea; 

It  floats  so  nicely 

Upon  the  beautiful  sea. 

i 

And  then  it  comes  ashore, 

All  people  ciimb  aboard — 
The  bell  rings,  the  whistle  blows, 

And  off  we  go. 

THE  END 

We  had  a  hard  time  securing  a  casket  for  him.  The  un- 
dertaker said  it  is  a  rare  thing  to  have  a  child  die  at  this 

Nineteen 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

age.  The  nurse,  who  had  nursed  for  twelve  years,  wept 
like  a  child  when  he  passed  away.  She  had  never  been 
known  to  be  so  broken  up.  His  Sunday  School  teacher 
said  that  his  life  and  death  had  a  wonderful  influence  upon 
the  neighborhood  children,  as  well  as  upon  those  older. 

It  was  his  delight  to  help  his  father  pass  out  revival 
hand-bills.  If  at  any  time  he  had  been  unkind  to  his  parents 
during  the  day,  always  before  retiring  he  would  ask  them 
to  forgive  him.  His  grandmother  Coats,  somewhat  hard 
of  hearing,  said:  "I  will  miss  him  so,  for  he  always  talked 
loud  enough  so  that  I  could  hear  and  understand  him." 
This  obituary  is  written  that  the  world  may  know  that  the 
grace  of  God  changes  and  molds  even  the  life  of  a  child. 
This  book  is  wrritten  that  other  children  may  also  learn  the 
blessed  secret  of  kindness,  affection,  unselfishness  and  genu- 
ine Christian  discipleship. 

When  the  family  had  returned  from  the  undertaking 
parlors  on  Thanksgiving  Day,  his  little  sister,  Beryl,  said 
confidently:  "Brenton  come  back."  When  they  lowered 
the  casket  in  the  grave,  she  said:  "Brenton  down."  This 
was  baby  philosophy.  Her  hope  in  Brenton  coming  back 
was  not  realized.  His  precious  body  is  "down"  now,  but 
it  shall  rise  again  at  that  great  day.  He  shall  rise  again. 

The  public  school  will  miss  him,  as  will  the  Church  and 
Sunday  School.  No  one  will  miss  him  more  than  his  par- 
ents. The  vacant  chair,  the  empty  bed  and  his  cheerful 
voice,  now  heard  no  more,  ever  remind  us  that  he  is  gone. 
Our  loss  is  his  gain.  Our  hearts  are  broken,  but  we  sub- 
missively bow  our  heads,  and  say:  'Thy  will  be  done!" 

Twenty 


THROUGH  THE  GATE 

His  going  brings  heaven  nearer  and  makes  Jesus  the 
more  precious.  His  sun  set  at  eight,  but  the  glory  of  that 
sunset  will  never  fade  from  our  memory.  His  "little  ship" 
sailed  out  of  the  Bay  of  Time  across  sunlit  seas  to  a  fairer 
land  than  this;  he  has  passed  THROUGH  THE  GOLDEN 
GATE. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  EMPTY  CHAIR 

Written   by   His   Father. 

OUR  BELOVED  BRENTON  was  born  on  Saturday,  Janu- 
ary 7,  1911,  at  New  London,  Indiana.  This  little  village, 
of  less  than  one  hundred  inhabitants,  lies  about  ten  miles 
west  of  Kokomo.  It  is  noted  as  one  of  the  "underground 
railroad  stations"  in  times  of  slavery,  where  the  opprest 
colored  folk  were  harbored  and  helped,  enroute  to  their 
Canadian  paradise. 

It  was  while  the  writer  of  this  book  was  pastor  at  New 
London  that  Samuel,  Brenton's  father,  knelt  at  the  mourn- 
ers' bench  under  heavy  conviction.  At  eleven  o'clock  on  a 
memorable  Sunday  night,  with  both  hands  held  up  to 
heaven  in  token  of  surrender,  the  mourner  found  mercy 
and  pardon ;  found  Christ  in  wonderful  redeeming  power. 
Two  nights  later  he  knelt  at  the  altar  the  second  time,  this 
time  to  make  a  complete  consecration,  when  again  the 
power  of  God  came  down  and  sanctified  him  wholly.  Some 
time  later  he  was  divinely  called  to  preach,  in  which  work 
he  is  still  actively  engaged  at  this  writing. 


u 


>    I  J  . 


• 


THE    EMPTY    CHAIR 

A  number  of  years  later  the  writer  of  this  chapter  was 
himself  pastor  at  New  London,  Indiana.  Under  his  min- 
istry the  altar  where  he  himself  had  been  saved  now  became 
a  Bethel  to  many  weary  of  sin.  In  a  religious  sense  this 
village  is  historic.  The  judgments  of  God  often  fell  upon 
the  place.  Again  and  again  wras  God's  power  to  save  re- 
markably evidenced.  In  spite  of  the  spiritual  dearth  and 
death  so  prevalent  in  the  village  God  called  from  this 
church  a  goodly  number  into  His  vineyard  who  are  still 
engaged  in  winning  souls.  To  God  be  all  the  glory ! 

At  New  London  Brenton's  little  elder  sister,  Crystal, 
only  two  days  old,  and  his  grandfather  Lehman,  age  69 
years,  lie  buried.  To  the  Lehmans  the  incidents  that 
marked  the  movings  of  God  in  this  place  \vill  ever  live  in 
their  memory.  A  book  of  unusual  interest  might  be  written 
dealing  with  the  life  and  destiny  of  these  villagers. 

It  wras  a  cloudy  day  when  Brenton  first  saw  the  light  of 
this  world.  The  sky  was  robed  in  mourning.  The  sun  had 
veiled  his  face.  In  spite  of  cloudy  skies  and  hidden  suns, 
his  coming  brought  a  wealth  of  sunshine  and  joy  that 
lingers  even  yet,  although  he  has  passed  THROUGH  THE 
GOLDEN  GATE  into  the  City  Celestial. 

Our  hearts  and  home  were  warmed  by  his  love  and  in- 
teresting presence  for  eight  brief  years.  Today  he  is  on  the 
other  side  for  ever  safe  from  sin  and  suffering.  We  miss 
him  so,  but  we  look  up  to  heaven  through  our  rain  of  tears 
and  say,  Thy  \vill  be  done,  O  God!  We  shall  see  him 
again,  by  and  by. 

Like   Timothy's   grandmother   Lois,    Brenton's   grand- 

Twenty-flve 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

mother  Coats  took  much  interest  in  him.  She  read  to  him 
Bible  stories  by  the  hour,  or  from  good  books  and  papers; 
of  this  he  never  wearied.  We  are  convinced  that  all  this 
had  much  to  do  to  lead  him  early  into  the  Kingdom. 

As  parents  we  give  much  credit  to  his  Sunday  School 
teachers.  These  godly  women  did  much  to  lead  him  into 
paths  of  right. 

Especial  mention  must  be  made  of  his  first  Sunday 
School  teacher,  Mrs.  Joseph  Francis,  of  Sioux  City,  Iowa, 
where  we  held  a  five-year  pastorate,  previous  to  coming  to 
California.  Although  sixty-five  years  old,  the  mother  of 
sixteen  children  herself,  this  great  woman  took  pains  to 
hold  the  attention  of  her  scholars  by  reading  to  them  and 
telling  them  Bible  stories.  She  was  much  loved  by  them  all. 

Where  we  hold  a  pastorate  at  this  writing  ( 1920) ,  Miss 
Clara  Knouf,  of  Berkeley,  California,  his  second  Sunday 
School  teacher,  also  wielded  a  wonderful  influence  over 
him.  An  exemplary  Christian  in  every  way,  she  spent  much 
time  in  prayer.  We  have  known  her  to  spend  hours  in 
secret  prayer  for  the  cause  and  for  the  salvation  of  her 
scholars. 

God  bless  these  good  women.  Heaven  will  reward  them 
in  due  season. 

With  this  exceptional  Christian  training  Brenton  re- 
ceived, it  is  no  wonder  that  he  so  early  in  life  became  a 
follower  of  Jesus.  We  are  told  that  the  Roman  Catholic 
church  insists  in  training  her  children  seven  years  of  their 
life.  The  lessons  imprest  upon  the  child's  mind,  Rome  be- 
lieves, makes  it  almost  proof  against  other  religions.  Hav- 

Twenty-slx 


THE    EMPTY   CHAIR 

ing  implanted  her  doctrines  in  the  hearts  of  her  children, 
Rome  knows  that  "as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree's  inclined." 
And  so  it  is.  Protestantism  seems  to  be  still  blind  to  this 
fact.  Would  that  it  might  learn  this  lesson  from  Rome, 
and  thus  throw  influences  of  grace  around  the  children  so 
that  we  might  put  to  shame  the  religions  so  antagonistic  to 
that  of  Jesus  Christ. 

A  few  reasons  might  here  be  given  why  Brenton  so 
early  became  a  Christian.  From  infancy  he  was  taken  to 
the  church  services,  nor  was  he  ever  later  excused  from 
attending  unless  ill.  He  was  at  least  at  one  or  more  Sun- 
day services,  besides  the  mid-week  prayer  meeting.  Gener- 
ally when  the  Sunday  School  has  been  dismissed  the  chil- 
dren hasten  home  or  roam  the  streets  while  the  parents 
listen  to  the  sermon,  or  remain  at  home  to  read  the  Sunday 
newspaper.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  we  are  degenerating? 

This  carelessness  in  parents  is  making  religion  a  by- 
word. The  importance  of  the  regular  church  service  can 
not  be  too  much  stressed.  We  hear  it  said,  "that  "it  tires 
the  child  too  much  to  keep  it  in  during  the  preaching  ser- 
vice after  having  been  in  the  Sunday  School  class."  To 
meet  this  foolish  excuse  we  ask,  Do  the  children  tire 
attending  the  day-school  from  four  to  six  hours?  How 
careful  lest  children  tire  all  too  soon  in  the  Lord's  service, 
and  how  careless  in  allowing  them  plenty  of  time  for  other 
things ;  things  often  harmful  and  sinful ! 

Another  fact  wre  must  notice  in  Brenton's  life  is  that  he 
was  always  busy  with  pencil  and  paper,  drawing.  His  was 
a  busy  life.  While  he  loved  his  play  and  his  playmates,  yet 

Twenty-seven 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

there  was  in  him  that  something  that  wanted  to  excel  in 
things  worth  while ;  things  that  promised  usefulness  in  the 
future. 

Today  the  pencil  and  drawing-pad  lie  on  the  shelf,  un- 
touched. The  busy  little  fingers  have  laid  down  these 
material  things  to  be  employed  with  things  eternal.  No 
more  shall  we  hear  him  ask,  "Papa,  will  you  please  buy  me 
a  pencil  and  drawing-pad?"  or  "Mamma,  where  is  my 
drawing?" 

The  chair  where  he  once  sat  is  empty  now.  The  place  at 
the  table  where  he  drew  his  aeroplane,  his  Indians,  tepees, 
bows  and  arrows,  birds  and  flowers,  is  vacant.  His  crudely- 
drawn  Golden  Gate,  typical  of  that  one  through  which  he 
so.  recently  passed,  blurrs  our  vision  as  we  remember  his 
patient  toil  and  earnest  effort  to  excel.  As  the  mist  steals 
over  the  Bay  so  a  mist  steals  over  our  eyes  as  we  remember 
that  he  is  gone.  "His  works  do  follow  him." 


CHAPTER  IV 
GONE— IN  HIS  "LITTLE  SHIP" 

Written  by  His  Mother. 

IT  is  HARD  to  write  anything  about  Brenton.  I  have 
been  so  weak  since  he  took  sick.  Lately  I  have  been  able  to 
eat  better,  and  am  growing  somewhat  stronger,  for  which 
I  am  very  thankful. 

When  Brenton  was  about  five  years  old  we  were  attend- 
ing an  Assembly  at  Chariton,  Iowa.  I  so  well  remember 
the  Sunday  night  and  the  altar  full  of  seekers.  I  was  kneel- 
ing towards  the  front  with  him  and  noticed  him  crying  as 
though  his  heart  would  break.  I  asked : 

"Brenton,  do  you  want  to  be  saved?" 

He  answered,  "Yes." 

He  was  so  little  that  I  thought  perhaps  he  did  not  under- 
stand, so  did  not  urge  him  to  go  forward.  From  that  time 
until  he  was  ill  with  the  influenza  last  winter  (1919)  he 
never  showed  the  least  desire  to  be  saved. 

More  than  once  I  said  to  my  husband:  "I  wonder 
whether  Brenton  will  ever  feel  touched  again?"  After  he 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

had  been  so  ill  with  the  influenza  and  we  were  all  up  and 
able  to  go  to  church  again,  he  said: 

"Mamma,  I  am  so  glad  Beryl  (his  little  sister)  did  not 
die!" 

She  had  been  so  low  with  the  disease.    I  said  to  him: 

'You  ought  to  be  so  thankful  to  Jesus  for  having  spared 

us  all.   Brenton,  I  am  not  going  to  compel  you  to  go  to  the 

altar;  but  when  you  feel  that  you  ought  to  go  you  must 

go  and  be  saved." 

I  think  it  was  the  next  Sunday  night,  after  husband  had 
preached  and  was  giving  the  altar-call,  when  I  saw  that 
he  wanted  to  go  forward.  He  sat  by  my  side.  I  asked  him 
whether  he  wanted  to  go,  and  he  murmured,  "Yes,"  and 
just  then  walked  out  alone. 

After  that  he  was  different.  One  morning  before  he 
went  to  school,  I  found  him  on  his  knees  praying,  but  he 
was  timid  and  would  not  testify.  He  seemed  to  lose  the 
peace  out  of  his  heart. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  not  two  months  ago,  I  read  to 
him  the  story  of  "Mabel  Ashton's  Dream."  It  touched 
him,  I  could  see.  I  said:  "Brenton,  you  know  you  never 
testify.  If  we  keep  Jesus  in  our  hearts  we  must  never  be 
ashamed  of  Him,"  and  talked  to  him  along  this  line  for 
quite  a  while. 

That  night  after  husband  had  preached  and  was  giving 
the  altar-call,  I  did  not  think  of  him  going  forward  when 
he  walked  to  the  end  of  the  pew ;  I  thought  he  was  going 
after  Beryl,  who  had  been  playing  there;  but,  no;  I  can 
hear  him  yet  as  he  walked  out  to  the  altar. 

Thirty 


GONE — IN  HIS  "LITTLE  SHIP" 

It  seems  that  there  had  been  a  battle  in  his  mind  wheth- 
er he  should  go  forward  or  not,  and  when  he  had  settled 
it,  he  fairly  rushed  to  the  altar.  He  prayed  so  hard.  How 
brightly  he  testified  after  he  had  prayed  through,  and  had 
such  complete  victory. 

Soon  after  this  we  went  to  Santa  Rosa,  California,  in  a 
meeting  with  my  sister  and  her  husband,  Rev.  and  Mrs. 
Lewis  Fear.  I  shall  never  forget  one  Sunday  afternoon, 
when  he  testified  so  earnestly.  His  face  fairly  shone  with 
the  glory  of  God. 

I  had  begun  to  think  that  he  would  be  a  preacher.  We 
had  laid  so  many  plans  for  and  about  him;  now  they  are 
all  gone.  No  one  in  the  world  knows  how  I  wanted  to  see 
my  boy  grow  to  young  manhood.  I  thought  it  would  be 
wonderful  to  have  a  son — a  young  man. 

He  was  growing  so — especially  since  we  came  to  Cali- 
fornia— and  was  almost  as  tall  as  I  am.  He  liked  to  tell 
me  that  he  was  "most  as  big  as  mamma."  Just  lately  he 
said,  teasingly:  "My  little  bits-a-mamma!" 

I  never  felt  afraid  to  go  anywhere  if  only  I  had  him 
with  me.  He  always  seemed  to  know  the  way;  you  could 
not  lose  him.  He,  his  little  sister  Beryl  and  I  went  from 
Berkeley  to  San  Francisco  alone  when  we  had  been  there 
but  once  with  husband.  I  went  to  church  at  Oakland 
alone  with  him  after  night  where  husband  had  preceded  us 
and  changed  cars  with  no  trouble  at  all.  I  never  felt 
afraid  when  he  was  by  my  side. 

Last  summer  his  grandmother  Coats  and  he  wrent  to 
Santa  Rosa  and  staid  a  week.  When  coming  home  she  said 

Trlrty-ona 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

to  him:  "Brenton,  I  am  putting  myself  entirely  in  your 
care!"  After  they  arrived  at  Berkeley  he  knew  exactly 
where  to  get  off.  He  always  seemed  to  know  the  way. 

Oh,  how  we  miss  him!  Every  day  it  seems  I  miss  him 
more.  We  live  just  across  the  street  from  the  public 
school  building  where  he  attended.  It  seems  he  ought  to 
be  there  now,  where  I  could  watch  him  at  play  as  I  used 
to  do.  At  noon  it  seems  I  must  hear  his  steps  on  the  porch 
coming  for  his  luncheon — but  we  shall  hear  his  footsteps 
never  more. 

How  he  loved  California ;  but  he  did  not  get  to  enjoy  it 
long.  He  never  tired  of  the  ocean,  the  ships  and  ocean 
liners.  Instead  of  speaking  of  large  ocean  liners  in  his 
poem,  it  was  "a  little  ship."  On  this  he  sailed  away  to  the 
foreign  strand,  to  the  happy  land. 

In  Sioux  City,  Iowa,  he  often  went  out  to  gather  wild- 
flowers.  Sometimes  these  were  nothing  but  weeds  or  dan- 
delion blossoms ;  but  he  loved  them  all.  He  always  brought 
them  in  to  me  to  put  them  in  water  for  him. 

Here  in  California  where  flowers  grow  the  year  'round ; 
where  beautiful  calla  lilies  and  roses  bloom  all  winter  in 
our  yard,  he  fairly  reveled  in  their  beauty.  But  he  was  not 
permitted  to  enjoy  them  long.  He  is  now  in  the  land  where 
flowers  grow  more  wonderful  than  here;  where  perfumes 
more  delicate  by  far  than  found  in  earthly  flowers,  delight 
and  satisfy  his  refined  nature. 

His  birthday  came  in  January.  This  month  is  so  cold  in 
the  middle  west.  The  last  winter  we  were  in  Iowa,  he 
said :  "Mamma,  I  wish  you  could  make  my  birthday  come 

Thirty-two 


GONE — IN  HIS  "LITTLE  SHIP" 

when  the  weather  is  nice."  This  winter  when  "the  weather 
was  nice"  and  we  were  away  from  the  snows  and  storms, 
and  in  the  Land  of  Roses,  he  was  not  with  us.  We  had 
borne  him  to  Sunset  View  Cemetery  before  his  birthday 
came  and  laid  him  in  his  little  grave  on  the  hillside.  There 
his  precious  mortality  sleeps  until  the  waking.  From  snow- 
blown  birthdays  and  rose-famed  California  he  has  gone  to 
the  Isles  of  Glory  where  Flowers  of  Beulah  bloom  for 
ever. 

To  draw  was  his  delight.  I  know  he  was  never  in  the 
house  five  minutes  until  he  had  his  paper  and  pencil.  After 
he  took  ill  husband  purchased  for  him  a  new  drawing 
tablet.  He  never  used  it,  for  he  sailed  away  in  his  "little 
ship"  soon  thereafter.  The  "Golden  Gate  of  'Frisco  Bay" 
which  he  so  crudely  drew  was,  it  seems,  premonitory  of  his 
entrance  THROUGH  THE  GOLDEN  GATE  into  the  love- 
locked  Bays  of  Beulahland. 

I  know  that  others  have  gone  through  sorrow  as  deep  as 
ours.  At  a  time  like  this  it  is  good  to  know  Jesus.  Oh,  I 
will  live  closer  to  Him!  I  am  determined  that  nothing 
shall  separate  me  from  His  love.  Some  day  I  shall  see  my 
boy  again  and  have  him  with  me  for  ever.  May  the  eight 
brief  years  he  spent  on  earth  with  us  leave  an  influence  for 
good  and  for  God  upon  other  children  and  lead  them 
safely  home  through  the  gates  into  the  City  Eternal. 


CHAPTER  V 
OUR  SUNSET  VIEW 

Written  by  His  Father. 

THE  WORDS  OF  Job  are  true  when  he  says  that  "my 

days  are  swifter  than  a  weaver's  shuttle,  and  are  spent 
without  hope."  James  puts  it,  "What  is  your  life?  It  is 
even  a  vapour,  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time,  and  then 
vanisheth  away." 

It  is  just  six  months  ago  today  that  our  beloved  son, 
Brenton,  slipped  away  to  be  with  Jesus.  How  swiftly  the 
years  have  gone  by  since  he  first  brought  sunshine  into 
our  Indiana  home.  Often  have  we  heard  him  say,  during 
his  eight  years'  stay  with  us,  what  he  wanted  to  do  when 
grown  to  manhood.  We  had  anticipated  for  him  a  great 
future.  We  had  hoped  to  see  the  day  when  we  could  go 
to  him  for  counsel  and  instruction,  but  our  hopes  have  not 
been  realized  in  this  direction — since  he  went  away. 

The  apostle  James  speaks  of  vapor,  or  dew.  Dew  dis- 
appears in  a  short  time,  but  it  leaves  freshness  and  fruit- 
fulness  in  the  passing.  It  was  so  in  Brenton's  coming  and 


OUR  SUNSET  VIEW 

going.  He  passed  away  early  in  life,  but  left  upon  our 
hearts  a  freshness  and  tenderness  nothing  else  could  have 
wrought. 

It  is  said  that  dew  wards  off  chill  and  frost.  Brenton  was 
welcomed  into  our  home.  His  warm,  refreshing  presence 
awoke  in  our  hearts  a  love  for  children  that  we  otherwise 
might  not  have  had.  A  little  boy  attended  Mr.  Moody's 
Sunday  School.  He  was  asked  why  he  did  not  attend  a 
Sunday  School  nearer  his  home.  He  replied,  "O,  they  love 
a  fellow  here!"  He  was  won  by  love. 

James  reminds  us  that  we  do  not  know  just  \vhen  the 
dew  may  rise  from  the  earth.  ''Whereas  ye  know  not 
what  shall  be  on  the  morrow."  He  here  hints  at  the  un- 
certainty of  life.  Few  make  any  preparation  for  death. 
The  majority  are  interested  only  in  having  a  good  time 
and  act  as  though  they  were  to  live  here  for  ever.  It  is 
business  or  pleasure  first;  to  prepare  for  death  is  only  an 
occasional,  uneasy  afterthought.  Because  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  life  we  should  prepare  for  death. 

"O  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,  thou  that  killest  the  prophets, 
and  stonest  them  which  are  sent  unto  thee,  how  often 
would  I  have  gathered  thy  children  together,  even  as  a  hen 
gathereth  her  chickens  under  her  wings,  and  ye  would  not. 
Behold,  your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate."  Matt. 
23  :37,  38.  The  Sunday  night  we  preached  from  this  text 
Brenton  led  the  way  to  the  altar,  with  three  following 
him.  He  heeded  the  admonition  to  prepare  to  meet  God. 
Today  he  enjoys  the  rewards  of  having  yielded  to  the 
wooings  of  the  Spirit.  He  is  now  in  the  spirit  land. 

Thirty-seven 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 


"There  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling;  and  there  the 
weary  are  at  rest." 

Ever  since  the  night  when  Brenton  yielded  to  God  our 
hearts  have  been  touched  when  children  about  his  age  have 
come  to  the  altar  of  prayer  to  be  saved.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  yet  true,  too  few  Christian  workers  pay  proper 
attention  to  children  seeking  salvation.  "He  that  winneth 
souls  is  wise,"  saith  the  Proverbs  preacher.  Upon  this 
subject  Jesus  himself  discourses,  with  a  hint  to  the  wise: 
"Suffer  little  children,  and  forbid  them  not,  to  come  unto 
me:  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

For  example,  if  a  child  ten  years  old  is  saved,  and  lives 
to  the  ripe  old  age  of  seventy  years,  that  would  mean  sixty 
years  of  service  for  the  Lord.  On  the  other  hand,  should 
this  child  live  in  sin  until  sixty  years  old  and  then  be 
saved — and  this  is  seldom  seen — and  live  out  the  three 
score  years  and  ten,  the  Lord  would  get  only  ten  years  of 
feeble  service.  Sixty  of  life's  best  years  spent  in  sin  and 
only  ten  years,  with  enfeebled  mentality  and  palsied  pow- 
ers, spent  for  God.  Sixty  years  grinding  in  the  mills  of 
sin  and  only  ten  years  laid  at  the  feet  of  a  merciful  Christ. 
O,  children,  give  Jesus  your  heart  early  in  life!  Jesus 
pleads  now,  Son,  daughter,  give  Me  thine  heart! 

It  is  easy  to  see  in  which  case  the  most  good  may  be 
done.  The  wise  man  said,  "Remember  now  thy  Creator  in 
the  days  of  thy  youth,  while  the  evil  days  come  not,  nor 
the  years  draw  nigh,  when  thou  shalt  say,  I  have  no  pleas- 
ure in  them."  Eccl.  12:1.  Why  wait  until  the  pleasures  of 
life  have  grown  bitter  under  your  tongue  and  then  cast 

Thirty-eight 


V 

• 


.1  I 


• 


I      .  J       «, 


I 


COMPANIONS   TWO 


OUR  SUNSET  VIEW 

your  sin-wrecked  soul  at  the  feet  of  a  long  insulted  Christ  ? 
Merciful  indeed  is  God  when  He  takes  your  wasted  life 
and  even  yet,  after  all  your  sixty  years  of  stubborn  resist- 
ance, washes  and  cleanses  your  heart  and  fits  you  for 
heaven.  Beware,  lest  you  trifle  just  a  bit  too  long,  and  the 
Spirit  leaves  you  to  return  no  more.  You  may  trifle  just 
one  hour  too  long,  and  that  would  mean  a  hopeless  present 
and  a  remorseful  hereafter. 

Children,  let  us  notice  a  few  reasons  why  you  should 
give  your  heart  to  Christ.  First,  habits  are  formed  early 
in  life — from  early  childhood  to  the  age  of  twenty.  Sec- 
ond, because  the  heart  in  youth  is  tender  and  susceptible 
to  good.  When  older,  if  evil  runs  riot,  the  heart  is  hard 
and  unyielding.  Third,  it  means  better  health  and  a  long 
life,  generally,  according  to  promise.  Fourth,  because  of 
the  power  of  influence.  "Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that 
shall  he  also  reap."  Wield  an  influence  that  tells  for  God. 

"Sow  an  act,  and  you  will  reap  a  habit.  Sow  a  habit, 
and  you  will  reap  a  character.  Sow  a  character,  and  you 
will  reap  a  destiny."  Let  us  take  care  of  the  sowing,  and 
then  God  will  take  care  of  the  reaping.  It  is  certain  that 
we  shall  reap  more  than  we  have  sown,  and  of  the  same 
kind  of  seed. 

There  may  be  a  long  time  between  the  sowing  and  the 
reaping;  but  the  reaping  time  is  sure  to  come.  "He  that 
soweth  to  the  flesh  shall  of  the  flesh  reap  corruption."  If 
you  "sow  to  the  wind"  and  shall  "reap  the  whirlwind." 
"He  that  soweth  to  the  Spirit  shall  of  the  Spirit  reap  life 
everlasting."  Let  us  be  careful  what  kind  of  seed  we  sow. 

Thirty-nine 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

Sow  disobedience,  and  you  will  reap  a  dissolute,  profli- 
gate character.  This  leads  to  prison,  to  disgrace,  to  sen- 
tence, to  the  gallows,  to  death,  to  hell.  Sow  discord,  and 
you  will  reap  a  harvest  of  discord  by  and  by.  As  you  have 
sown,  so  shall  you  reap.  The  seed  that  falls  from  your 
careless  hand  finds  soil  somewhere,  and  grows.  While 
sowing,  you  dance  to  the  lute,  but  when  the  harvest  comes 
there  will  be  neither  mirth  nor  music.  Instead  there  will 
be  the  wail  of  woe  and  the  cry  of  bitterest  anguish.  Chil- 
dren, see  to  your  sowing! 

Death  does  not  end  your  influence  here.  If  it  did,  then 
the  wicked  who  die  might  have  at  least  one  gleam  of  com- 
fort in  this  that  their  evil  influence  had  ended.  But,  not 
so;  the  influence  they  set  in  motion  by  a  wild  sowing  will 
go  on  until  time  shall  be  no  more.  If  influence  ended  at 
death,  Christians  might  mourn  in  that  the  good  they  had 
done  in  other  years  was  now  dead.  No,  we  may  rejoice 
that  our  influence  for  good  will  go  on  as  long  as  time  shall 
last. 

Influence  never  dies.  The  ripple,  caused  by  a  pebble 
dropped  in  that  limpid  pool,  goes  on  until  it  strikes  the 
shore,  no  matter  how  far  that  shore  may  be  away.  Our 
influence  goes  on  until  it  reaches  the  farthermost  shores  of 
eternity.  Influence  will  follow  us  to  the  Judgment.  Shall 
it  be  for  evil  ?  or,  shall  it  be  for  good  ? 


CHAPTER  VI 
"WHEN   THE   BELL   RINGS" 

Written   by   His   Father. 

SINCE  BRENTON  SAILED  away  on  his  "little  ship"  we 
have  visited  Sunset  View  Cemetery  a  number  of  times. 
While  standing  by  his  grave  we  remembered,  with  a  dull 
ache  in  the  heart,  the  romps  and  plays  we  had  had  together. 
Memory  brought  back  the  days  when  we  had  thrown  toil 
aside  for  a  bit  to  go  fishing,  picnicking,  or  to  the  beach. 

It  seemed  we  could  again  hear  him  say,  as  we  walked 
along  the  street,  just  like  any  wide-awake  boy  exclaims  as 
he  sees  this  or  that  on  display  in  the  windows:  "Papa,  buy 
me  a  phonograph !"  It  might  be  a  cap,  an  overcoat,  new 
shoes,  a  sled,  a  jack-knife,  a  bicycle,  a  watch,  a  bright- 
colored  kite,  a  pen,  roller  skates,  or  a  dog.  Again,  it  might 
be  he  wanted  to  take  lessons  in  cartooning,  for  drawing 
was  his  delight. 

Of  course,  all  these  impulsive  requests  could  not  be 
granted ;  but  how  we  missed  the  constant  prattle,  requests, 
and  questions.  We  remembered  the  time  when  he  had  the 
whooping-cough ;  when  he  passed  through  the  distempers 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

incident  to  a  child's  life,  and  how  we  watched  over  him 
when  in  the  throes  of  fever.  Almost  forgotten  incidents 
trooped  by  on  Memory's  faithful  steeds — until  his  whole 
short  life  was  re-lived  on  that  hilltop. 

Memory,  children,  will  never  die.  At  the  Judgment 
things  almost  forgotten  will  come  rushing  back  along  the 
lanes  of  memory.  Neglected  or  rejected  opportunities  will 
there  multiply  our  remorse,  should  we  be  found  with  the 
sinner.  How  glad  we  will  be  to  remember  there  that  we 
walked  in  the  white  light  of  God  all  along  the  way.  What 
joy  will  be  ours  .when  we  remember  that  we  sowed  good 
seed  while  on  earth,  and  that  now  we  will  reap  the  har- 
vests of  ever-changing  delights  throughout  eternity, 

Standing  there  by  the  graveside  we  remembered  that 
our  Brenton  had  quite  early  learned  obedience.  This  was 
a  great  comfort.  Later  he  had,  through  Jesus,  learned 
the  better  way  of  obedience.  We  remembered  the  time  of 
his  bright  conversion  and  clear-cut  sanctification  ;  his  ring- 
ing testimonies  to  full  salvation — and  then  his  victorious 
home-going.  Early  in  life  he  learned  obedience  to  his  par- 
ents and  to  his  God.  Man's  crowning  sin  is  disobedience. 
For  this  he  must  give  an  account  at  the  Judgment.  His 
only  safety  lies  in  obedience  to  God.  This  alone  will 
bring  him  a  harvest  of  eternal  glory. 

With  a  last  look  upon  Brenton's  grave  we  left  the  hill- 
side for  the  valley  below.  We  shall  never  forget  the  clear, 
blue  sky,  the  gleam  of  the  afternoon  sun  on  the  sea-green 
Bay,  the  Golden  Gate  in  the  offing,  the  ships  riding  at 
anchor  near  the  Mole,  and  the  white,  wheeling  sea-gulls 

Forty -two 


"WHEN  THE  BELL  RINGS" 


overhead.  The  rows  of  tombstones  reminded  us  that  we 
stood  in  the  City  of  the  Dead.  Here  lay  the  dust  of  our 
Brenton,  wrapped  about  with  the  shroud  of  silence.  With 
reluctant  feet  we  left  the  sacred  spot.  Memory  spoke,  and 
said:  "He  is  not  here.  He  walks  on  the  silver  sands  of 
another  sea.  Some  day  you  shall  see  him  again.  His  slum- 
bering dust  shall  rise  in  that  soon  by  and  by  to  be  clothed 
in  shining  robes  of  immortality." 

Farewell,  beloved  of  our  hearts!  The  ache  in  our  breast 
is  heavy,  and  the  sob  of  sorrow  will  not  be  still.  The 
crape  still  flutters  from  the  door-knocker  here,  and  we 
miss  him  more  than  ever  now.  We  will  never  be  satisfied 
until  we  exchange  the  empty  parsonage  for  a  mansion.  In 
the  home  of  the  soul  there  will  be  no  missing  ones.  There 
we  may  lay  the  cover  for  every  member  of  the  family 
every  day  in  eternity.  No  shadow  shall  cross  our  thres- 
hold there.  The  fluttering  crape  on  our  door-knob  here 
will  be  forgotten  in  the  joy  that  we  have  each  other  there. 

Faith  sees  through  the  falling  tears,  beyond  the  tumult 
of  time,  into  the  City  where  he  walks  hand  in  hand  with 
"sister  Crystal"  and  heaven's  choicest  society.  Beloved, 
thou  art  safe  at  last!  Temptation,  sickness,  pain,  sorrow, 
death,  the  open  grave,  the  falling  clod,  the  patted  mound 
- — all,  all  these  you  have  left  for  ever  behind.  The  "little 
ship"  that  bore  you  from  our  arms  will  soon  round  the 
Golden  Horn  of  time  and  anchor  in  the  offing  of  Hope 
just  long  enough  for  us  to  climb  aboard.  When  the  "bell 
rings"  and  the  "whistle  blows"  we  will  be  "off"  to  climes 
immortal  and  fair, 


CHAPTER  VII 

THAT  WONDERFUL  MORNING 

IN  GRAVE  NUMBER  46  in  Sunset  View  Cemetery  over- 
looking the  Bay  and  Golden  Gate  lies  all  that  is  mortal  of 
Brenton  Samuel  Lehman.  The  flowers  that  lay  on  his 
grave  have  faded.  His  mortality  is  crumbling  to  dust. 
Humanity  weeps  at  the  graveside,  remembering  only  the 
once  animated  clay;  but  Hope  turns  its  eyes  toward  a 
better  day — to  the  Day  when  his  mortality  shall  rise 
clothed  in  glory. 

We  turn  away  from  the  bed  of  fever  and  pain,  from  the 
delirium  and  the  tossings,  the  sweat-beaded  forehead,  the 
stiffening  limbs,  the  folded  hands,  the  crape  and  flowers 
and  funeral  obsequies.  We  close  our  ears  to  the  muffled 
fall  of  clods,  the  stifled  sob  and  the  moan  of  pain.  We  turn 
our  back  upon  the  graveyard  on  the  hill  with  its  sleeping 
dead  to  the  waters  of  the  west,  toward  the  Golden  Gate, 
toward  the  Golden  Era,  to  Golden  Dreams  to  be  fulfilled 
at  last. 

We  try  to  forget  the  "Great  Storm"  that  swept  the 


THAT  WONDERFUL  MORNING 

Bay  on  that  Thanksgiving  day,  when  Brenton  was  in  the 
passing.  We  try  to  forget  the  undertaker's  parlors,  the 
funeral  train,  the  floral  tributes,  the  heavy  sorrow,  the 
empty  chair,  the  unprest  pillow,  the  emptiness  and  loneli- 
ness all  around,  and  turn  our  eyes  toward  that  Morning 
when  grave  Number  46  shall  yield  its  precious  treasure — 
when  Brenton  Samuel  Lehman  shall  rise  from  his  dusty 
bed — his  mortality  clothed  in  white  and  wonderful  glory. 
He  shall  rise  again. 

We  do  not  forget  that  on  that  Wonderful  Morning  we 
shall  meet  him  whom  we  so  lately  lost.  Then  and  there 
shall  forever  pass  away  the  last  heartache  and  sorrow  earth 
has  known.  With  a  last  look  upon  things  transitory — upon 
the  grave  where  he  lay — we  shall  cross  the  Bays  of  space 
to  worlds  wonderful  and  fair.  That  Morning  is  coming. 

The  crunch  of  the  grave-digger's  spade  shall  never  be 
heard  in  heaven.  No  flower-grown  sod  will  there  be 
turned,  under  which  our  loved  ones  are  laid.  We  brush 
away  our  tears  and  look  up  with  tip-toe  expectancy  to  the 
soon-parting  clouds,  waiting  for  the  ready-call  to  the 
Marriage  Supper  of  the  Lamb.  At  this  table  there  will  be 
no  vacant  chair.  Brenton  (and  Crystal)  will  be  there, 
seated  by  our  side  as  of  old  and,  oh ! — what  a  glad  family 
reunion  that  will  be ! 

So  we  turn  away  in  sorrow  from  the  grave  upon  the 
hill,  bowing  low  before  the  Master  and  submitting  to  His 
will.  Empty  is  the  chair  beside  us,  and  his  pillow  lies  un- 
prest ;  lowly  lies  his  precious  body,  but  his  spirit  is  at  rest. 
Sailed  he  o'er  the  seas  uncharted  in  his  "little  ship"  away 

Forty -five 


THROUGH    THE    GOLDEN    GATE 

to  the  Homeland  of  the  Blessed — left  us  weeping  on  the 
Bay.  Faded  are  the  lilies  lying  on  the  little  yellow  mound ; 
but  his  dust  on  that  fair  morning  shall  come  springing 
from  the  ground.  Why  his  sun  has  set  so  early  we  do  now 
not  understand ;  but  what  God  has  done  is  better  than  we 
ever  could  have  planned.  Just  a  few  more  golden  sunsets 
flashing  o'er  life's  busy  Bay,  when  the  "little  ship"  will 
take  us  to  the  Land  of  Far  Away.  We  shall  safely  make 
the  Harbor — be  it  morn  or  ev'ning  late.  There  our  "ships" 
shall  ride  at  anchor — just  inside  the  Golden  Gate. 


SUNSET 

His  sun  set  at  eight — 
With  the  dew  on  the  rose ; 

He  has  passed  thro'  the  Gate 
To  his  final  repose. 

The  wind  whispers  so 
O'er  his  grave  on  the  hill, 

Where  the  liners  loom  low 
Thro'  the  murk  and  the  chill. 

His  "ship"  sailed  away 
To  that  far-away  strand; 

Thro'  the  mist  and  the  spray 
To  that  Beautiful  Land. 

Our  woe  was  his  weal — 

As  he  put  out  to  sea, 
With  the  foam  at  his  keel 

And  the  wind  in  his  lee. 

The  off-shore  winds  sigh 
Since  his  "ship"  sailed  away 

Where  the  wild  sea-gulls  cry 
O'er  the  ship-empty  Bay. 

The  bright  silver  moon 

Bathes  his  grave  in  her  gleams, 
While  the  Bay-waters  croon 

Their  late  lullaby  dreams. 

We  watch  and  we  wait 
On  the  mist-heavy  Mole, 

Since  he  passed  thro'  the  Gate 
To  the  Home  of  the  Soul. 

Across  the  wide  foam 

In  the  soon  by  and  by 
We  shall  set  sail  for  Home 

Where  they  nevermore  die. 


THROUGH    THE   GOLDEN    GATE 


All  the   proceeds   from   the   sale   of   this 

book  will  be  used  exclusively  for 

the  Missionary  Cause 


Price: 

1  copy,  postpaid $     .25 

12  copies,  postpaid   1.80 

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100  copies,  not  prepaid 12.00 

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1,000  copies,  not  prepaid 95.00 


Order  of 

Lehman  Brothers  Publishers 

Post  Office  Lock  Box  335 

Pasadena,  California 


>  I 


c 


E 


SONGS   THAT    ARE    DIFFERENT 


Book    One 

(Words  and  Music,  8vo.) 

A  Better  Day 

Abiding-  Place  in  Jesus 

A  Common  Volunteer 

Amen,  Jesus 

Deeper  Joys 

Does  God  Answer  Prayer  Today  ? 

Elbow  Room 

Jesus  Asleep  in  My  Barque 

Love  of  God 

My  Honeymoon 

New  Days 

No  Disappointment  in  Heaven 

Old  Time  Religion  (new) 

On  Tiptoe 

Peace  for  Pain 

Royal  Telephone 

That  City 

The  Vision 

What  Will  the  Judgment  Be? 

When  God  Beats  Time 


Book  Two 

(Words  and  Music,  8vo.) 

Alone 

A  String  of  Empties 

Busy  Dying 

Flee  Out  of  Sodom 

Home 

How  Faith  Will  Grow 

It's  Easy 

Moving-  Day 

My  Leaning-  Side 

Never  Draw  Back 

That  Low  Whisper 

That  Question  Mark 

The  Auction 

The  Cowboy's  Dream 

The  Last  Panic 

The  Rainbow  Song 

Trolley's  Off 

Under  the  Cypress 

When  God  Is  Dead 

Wide  Enough  for  Two 


In  Book  Form,  36  pages, 
Handsomely  Bound.  Price, 
$1.00  per  copy;  6  copies, 
$3.60;  12  copies,  $6.00,  post- 
paid. 


In  Book  Form,  36  pages, 
Handsomely  Bound.  Price, 
$1.00  per  copy;  6  copies, 
$3.60;  12  copies,  $6.00,  post- 
paid. 


Any  of  the  above  songs  may  be  obtained  in  loose  leaf 
form.  Price,  lOc  per  copy;  5c  each  in  quantities  of  12  or 
more,  one  kind  or  assorted;  $4.00  per  100;  $30.00  per  1,000, 
prepaid. 


Neither  books  nor  songs  sent  for  examination,  and  none 
exchanged. 


F.   M.   Lehman 

Post  Office  Lock  Box  335 

Pasadena,  California 


UNIVERSITY   OF    CALIFORNIA    LIBRARY, 

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